Mythos Of The Dead
by XSilverLiningsX
Summary: Cursed with immortality and his heroics long forgotten, Lann watched as the land he once knew changed into something not unlike Paradise, but yet still far from it. Residing in solitude, he initially refuses to involve himself with the Wizarding world, but with Lord Voldemort looming over the corrupted horizon, Lann will not idly stand by as his home burns. Crosses multiple books.
1. Prologue

_****__Be warned, this is not beta-checked and updates will be sporadic._

* * *

The unrelenting rain pelted the quieting battlefield that was littered with the still bodies of Fomors and humans alike. Some of them had spent their last breaths writhing in excruciating pain as their bodies gave out from the strain while others had received a mercifully quick death, but all the same was that the stench of death and sickness permeated everywhere, choking what life was left out of those who were unfortunate to still be alive.

From his sprawled position on the muddy ground, Lann took in a deep breath of cool air that stung his heaving lungs as he looked upwards into the darkened sky above. Breathing was getting much harder, and it didn't help that his shattered ribcage was practically crushed under the weight of his broken armor, the warm blood pooling out of every possible wound and orifice before coalescing into a rapidly expanding puddle underneath him. He felt numb to the bone, but Lann could feel the warmth seeping out from the wounds in his body. Dying is a strange feeling.

A sharp cry of one of his struggling teammates made him flop his heavy head over to the side. He watched, in a muted sense of shock, as a bloodied Fiona took down the last Fomor with kick before crumpling to the ground a meter away. The Fomor, in its last breath, had jabbed a barbed arrow into one of the cracks of her armor and straight into her heart.

Lann watched as Fiona died quickly and with a fierce expression on her face, but the look of her blank eyes seared itself into his memory.

A weak groan coming from his right made Lann turn his head, it was getting harder to do move, over to look through bleary eyes as Evie shifted slightly from her collapsed position a yard away. Her hand was outstretched towards him, but at a closer look the film of blankness quickly took over her expressive eyes before he could even begin to think to move his useless arms towards her.

Evie had died in that moment as her injuries were more severe than the ones he sustained. The pool of coagulated blood pointed to the fact that she had been lying there for quite a while without being able to heal herself, her arms broken and her mana depleted. She had died in agonizing pain, and Lann had just watched her as the last wisp of her vibrant light slipped away.

Behind Evie, Lann could barely see the back of Karok's hulking frame through the pouring rain. The giant was unusually still, but it obvious he had been dead for a while; a giant claw from a nameless Fomor had punched itself through his midsection attested to that. He was awkwardly hanging from the stiff limb of the dead Fomor, making it seem like he was still standing. Lann thought that was a fitting way for his burly friend to die on his feet, rather than on his back.

Totally numb, Lann could not feel any pain as he painstakingly dragged himself onto his stomach. Exhausted with that simple movement, the dual-wielder rested the side of his head against the puddle of his blood. It was unusual, he should definitely be dead by now but it felt like he had the strength to move. Something was wrong, but the answer eluded his foggy mind as he pulled his body an inch upwards without the help of his legs.

They both were broken and mangled from the counter-ballistae attack, after all.

Another inch forwards and it took what seemed like centuries to even move a foot, but Lann eventually reached the last member of his team that was lying on his front in a puddle of blood even larger than his own already sticky and cold to the touch. A bloodied spear stood proudly up from the middle of the archer; Kai had tortuously slid down every last inch of the spear before finally breathing his last in this utterly gruesome way of dying. The empty look in his usually sharp and angry eyes showed that even he, too, was dead.

The battlefield was silent now, save for the crackles of the fires that licked at the wooden debris. Ashes mixed with the rain as the gloomy skies poured down even harder. Colhen had burned, Rocheste had burned, and now even the best of the best were dead and burning too.

This realization tore through Lann's fogged mind with the force of a speeding bullet. He was dying in a pool of his blood mixed with those of his dead comrades. The struggling Crimson Blades mercenaries had long been decimated by the seemingly never-ending legion of Fomors, and the remants Royal Army had burned along with the now-abandoned ruins of Rocheste.

But, the one good thing was that the Fomors was— _are_ eradicated and no more.

Every single one of them followed the orders of Morrighan, their Goddess, to the letter but what good was a Paradise when there was nobody around to see it?

With his dying breath, Lann laughed through a mouthful of his blood as the rain washed away his tears.

* * *

Lann startled awake as the sun shined into his eyes and the first thing he saw was that the sky was a beautiful blue with puffy clouds drifting lazily across. For a split moment, Lann thought he was in Paradise. There was no more pain in his body, no Fomors, no more _screaming_, but—

He could still smell the stench of rotting _death_.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Lann looked around and a tall field of sickly yellow-red grass blocked his vision as it swayed with the breeze. Getting to his feet, he could see thick vines of vegetation eating its way across the blood-stained rubble and ruins of what used to be the grave-site of hundreds upon thousands of his fellow soldiers.

Lann didn't need to look around to know that the bodies of his comrades had rotted just enough so that new life could begin to grow. He could smell it, the cloying scent that still choked his lungs and lingered at the back of his throat.

He was not in Paradise. Whatever this place now was, it is not Paradise. Far from it.

He had somehow lived and emerged unscathed whereas all the others had died with their features twisted into eternal agony.

Everybody he knew, from Fiona to Captain Aodhan to Ceara and Gwynn and— Oh Goddess, even _Tieve_, was dead. They were unmistakably dead and buried in the ashes and ruins of this unfamiliar world that looked so _beautiful_ but they were all still _dead_ and now he was _alone_.

Collapsing to his knees, Lann couldn't help feel the cold fingers of dread and grief and _panic_ gripping his heart until it felt like it could burst. He is _alone_ in this strange new after-world.

Lann didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be with his comrades and friends and family in their Paradise. Why wasn't he dead and half-rotted along with them? Why was he whole and healthy and _still alive_, God damn it!

Taking a hold of one of his rusted swords that had faithfully followed him even into his false-deathbed, Lann thrust it into his chest, easily breaking through the rusted metal and rotted cloth that was his upper armor.

Death was swift and carried him in its wings into the light.

* * *

Lann woke up again, but this time it was dark. The sword that he had remembered plunging into his body was still there, but it felt strange to have your organs shift over slightly to the side to accommodate the intrusion.

The dual-wielder didn't waste time as he ripped out the sword before aiming at his head this time.

* * *

After the fifth time he tried to kill himself with his swords, Lann hysterically thought that Morrighan was playing a terrible joke on him. He couldn't die, he was immortal of all things, and he was the last of the last and terrifyingly alone. What did she want from him?

Screaming into the bright blue heavens, he was starting to hate the color of the not-sky, didn't help as his voice cracked and echoed and a few crows that flew over cawed back at him unhelpfully. There was no answer, but he didn't expect one. Only the Oracle could speak with the Goddess, but then again, Tieve was dead as well.

Finally tearing himself from the ruins and grave of his comrades, the dual-wielder retreated back to whatever was left of Colhen. There might be somebody, anybody, left.

His hopes were in vain. The entire outpost was buried under old ashes and new vegetation growth and not a single soul was in sight.

He tried Rocheste next, but the feeling in his guts told him that there was nothing there as well, and his gut was right. The ruins of the stone-walled fortress reeked of destruction and death. Not one single soldier was alive, but at a closer look all there were no civilian casualties. That meant that the townsfolk had been safely evacuated before leaving the soldiers to do their jobs, but where were they evacuated? There wasn't another town or city for a hundred miles on this barren side of the world.

By the time Lann finished digging through the debris, it was nightfall. The lone man departed the ruins, but instead of going back to Colhen or the battlefield, he made his way to the remnants of the weathered bell tower. The structure was half-finished and was most likely never going to be, but it provided ample shelter and bordered the wild expanse of a forest that was rarely traveled through.

It was time to put his swords to use other than killing himself. He was hungry, after all, and his swords needed a good cleaning if he was going to survive in a place without a blacksmith or a cook.

* * *

The seasons came and went, just like the years that blurred together as the dual-wielder lived without contact with other people.

Lann easily lost track of time as what usually felt like a few days was more than likely a month to the real world, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He lived off the forest and resigned himself to solitude. The ache in his heart faded within time while his soul remained tired, but if Morrighan was so adamant in that he should not die there was no point in attempting suicide. Again. After the last twenty times.

Lann had long accepted his lonely path of unwanted immortality. He was still in peak condition, having not aged at all since on the day of his first death, but it seemed like time just _stopped_ for him. He didn't grow any more muscle despite training against the diverse wildlife, but he didn't lose anything like that time he starved himself to death to see what would happen. His body just stopped growing, but he still got hungry which was bizarre, but if he was wounded he would just have to sleep for a while and everything would be like as if he pressed a reset button. He was still able to get scars if he wasn't careful though.

At some point in time, Lann saw that small trickles of people had passed by and settled by the ruins of Rocheste. It wasn't known as Rocheste to the people, but they made it their home anyways. Others had continued on and reached what used to be Colhen before colonizing that as well.

They were ignorant of what had happened to the people that previously lived there, but curiosity gripped Lann for the first time in what felt like a millenia as a certain group of people that settled right next to the forest felt much different than any normal civilian or traveler.

In a sense, they felt _familiar_.

The four people, two remarkably young men and women each, almost gave out the same kind of feelings that Evie had. Something about the sparkling magic that emitted from their wooden sticks drew him to watch from the shadows in the trees as the group sometimes dueled with them, flinging sparks and whips of colorful light around. It looked like the magic could do ordinary things as well, such as lighting campfires or making objects move.

It was mesmerizing to watch, so Lann didn't bother them as they mostly respected the nature and didn't go too deep into the forest and reach his territory. After a while of watching Lann felt like he was intruding on something obviously private for the group as they were so far away from the rest of the civilization in not-Rocheste, so in return he slaughtered all of the braver wildlife that tried to feast upon the four in the dead of night before quietly depositing the corpse on top of their campfire. He didn't need the giant spider meat, anyways.

If the group caught onto his 'gifts,' they gave no inclination of awareness, which was just how Lann liked it. He had grown used to his solitude, and the intrusion of others was not welcome even if he had grown a little fond of the group of not-witches. Magic users. Whatever they called themselves these days.

One fine night with the moons shining brightly above, from his perch on a tree limb Lann saw some bandits on the road close to the forest. He trailed them silently from above, his slip dashes now as quiet as the wind blowing through the treetops, and he eavesdropped on their hushed conversations. From what he could gather, they were planning to ambush the group of strange magic-users that had wormed their way into his good graces.

Lann moved ahead of them quickly without more than a whisper of a breeze that showed that he had been there at all. Not that the bandits would have noticed anyways, with the cold wind that seemed to blow in every direction.

Once he reached the small group, he frowned as he saw that all of them were sound asleep. How could it be that not one person was on watch? He could hear the rustles from the bandit scouts behind him were coming closer, and there was no time to think as he slipped off the branch and aimed his swords at the bandit.

He could feel the warmth of the blood splashing against his bare chest and arms as he neatly cleaved both arms off from his body. The man barely had time to scream as one of his swords went through his neck. Leaving the corpse where it wobbled before toppling over, Lann dashed at the second scout that had appeared a few seconds later.

Surprising the bandit, Lann sliced a leg off at the hip before silencing the man in mid-shout by thrusting his second sword into the middle of his mouth. The wet gurgles stopped as he removed his sword from the gaping hole. The bandit was dead before he crumpled like a twig to the ground.

Lann managed to climb back up into the trees in time to see the rest of the bandits come rushing to see why their friend had screamed. They saw the corpses and were beginning to high-tail back to wherever they had come from, but Lann wasn't done with them yet.

The bloodlust was still in his veins.

By the time Lann had sliced the last bandit's chest into ribbons before silencing him, his arms were covered in the blood of the bandits, which was still warm. He flicked off the blood from his swords and sheathed them. His job was done, and now it was time to pile the mangled limbs and bodies into a pit and bury them. The corpses would provide enough nutrients for the soil for the trees, after all.

But first, he knelt down and rummaged through their pockets. In total, he found some gold in pouches and glassy stones, but he had no use for them. Perhaps the four magicians would like them?

A rustling behind Lann nearly made him reach for his swords, but from the footsteps he knew it had to be one of the young men from the camp of magicians. He was right, and it was the dark-haired one. The one with the short temper.

"Why did you kill these people?" His voice was angry, but hushed. He was warily pointing his magic stick at him as well.

"They were... bandits." His voice was cracked and deep from having been unused for years. The man's eyes darted to the corpses and his swords, a spark of recognition in his stare.

"Are you the one who has been dropping corpses in our campfire?" It seemed like he was a quick thinker. Almost as quick Fiona had been, but not that close. An unwanted smirk tugged at Lann's lips at the memory of his long gone friend, but it was quickly dropped. He didn't want to the ugly feeling of the pain to come back after so long of ignoring it.

The man was waiting for his answer, but he looked like he already figured it out.

Lann tilted his head before dashing up the tree with the pouch of gold and stones still clutched in one hand. In his boredom, he had trained his slip dash to the point where it almost rivaled Evie's blink, but it wasn't a true teleport. However, it was just enough to make the young man curse and spin around look for him, but Lann was far away by the time the man decided to give up and go back to his camp.

The next day, when he heard the screams from one of the women in the group about bloodied diamonds or something all the way from his napping corner in a high tree, he sheepishly thought that he probably should have washed them in the river before giving them away.

* * *

The young man with dark hair turned to look into the trees with a frown on his pale face, completely ignoring his insufferable colleagues. Although he couldn't see anything past the thick green foliage, the back of his neck was prickling with the sensation of that he was being watched.

Last night had been no joke. That forest-man was dangerous, but apparently not towards them if he kept on dumping large and admittedly terrifying animal corpses on their campfire. And this time, the money and jewels from the slain bandits.

"Oi, Slytherin! What are you staring at?" The young man, Salazar Slytherin, turned to look at the brash ginger-haired young man that had called his name. Godric Gryffindor was smirking as Helga Hufflepuff happily served him some of breakfast that she had made earlier that morning. Her mood had improved greatly once she had gotten over the fact that somebody had dropped blood-covered diamonds and some money next to her bedspread in the middle of the night.

"Nothing, Gryffindor." He sneered back and walked towards the campfire. He sat down next to Rowena Ravenclaw, who looked at him with a thin eyebrow raised. She knew that something was off with his sudden distracted state, but couldn't exactly put a finger on it.

"There's strange something in the forest." Rowena wasn't one to beat around the bush and she nailed it right on the head on her first try as usual. Salazar didn't even twitch as he replied evenly,

"Some_one_, and it is a man. The same man dropping corpses into our campfire like they are _gifts_." Rowena's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at this new information. He continued as he accepted his breakfast from Helga, "He also gave Helga the diamonds as well, but for what reason I cannot fathom."

"Hmm. Does he have a motive?" Rowena was interested now. Great. She'd probably drag Godric, or heaven forbid all of them, into the forest to go find the strange man who was being nice to them.

"Not that I know of, no." Rowena was about to ask another question but Godric interrupted,

"Hey, what are you two talking about? There's nobody in the forest! I should know, because I checked." Godric puffed up his chest. Apparently being the bravest meant that he was also the most stupid.

Salazar must have said that last part out loud as Helga slapped him upside the head and tutted about being nice.

* * *

Later, as Salazar led the rest of the group through the forest to where he had met the forest-man last night, he sighed and wondered if he had kept his mouth shut the strange man wouldn't pop out of nowhere and kill him.

Stopping at the little puddles of dried blood, Salazar had to admit that he was a little impressed at how fast the corpses had been moved. Behind him, Rowena frowned and knelt closer to the ground to get a closer look. Helga shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with the spooky feeling that the forest gave her, and stood closer to Godric. The ginger-haired young man was quiet for once, probably because he hadn't seen this amount of blood splattered on the ground since... ever.

"These splatters... they look like they were made from something really sharp and long. Whoever did this must be very fast, judging from how the blood is flung from here," Rowena pointed to the stain in front of her and then to another stain a few feet away, "to here. See these streaks in the middle?"

Rowena was correct, but it didn't make the whole situation any more comfortable for Salazar. Especially since he faced the down the dangerous man in the darkness last night. It was too dark to get a good look at the man, but he did see two leather sheaths at his side.

"Swords." The word popped out of his mouth and dark-haired woman looked just as surprised as he did. She turned to examine the blood splatters closer and nodded her agreement.

"In that case, there must have been two swords. This set of stains are nearly identical to the ones next to it a few yards away over there. Also, from the looks of it, —" The wind rustled the leaves around them heavily and Helga sneezed violently. Godric patted her on her back, clearly worried. It wasn't like the brunette to suddenly get a sneezing fit out of nowhere.

"Ah, sorry, sorry! Maybe something in the flowers are making me sneeze this hard..." At that moment, about of handful of leaves floated down in front of them almost lazily. Salazar's eyes narrowed. The wind wasn't blowing that hard, was it?

Then a tiny rock pelted the back of his head. With a hand around his wand, Salazar spun around and saw nothing, but when he chanced to look up he saw the strange forest-man that he had met last night. In this morning light, it was easier to see what he looked like from his not-so-high perch on a tree branch.

For the most part, he was downright terrifying even if he was perching in a fashion similar to a tiny bird 1/20 of his size on a tree branch. He was half-clothed in leather pants and boots, and his wild mane of dark hair was pulled back somewhat to reveal a stony face with amber-colored eyes that glared at nothing in particular. He was very tan and covered all over in scars, and the defined muscles in his chest and arms made him look more ferocious than the shadowy creature he had seen last night.

However, the set of swords that hung from a belt at his hips were bloodcurdling to even look at now that the leather sheaths were removed to reveal the twin swords in all of their spiked and gleaming metal bone-colored glory.

In short, he looked nothing like their pale and scrawny selves, but rather like a fierce warrior out of a fantasy tale that muggles would often tell around campfires.

Salazar didn't blame Helga for fainting. He would've done so himself were it not for the fact that he had to bodily stop Godric from pulling out his wand and stunning the man. In his distraction with his rival, Salazar failed to notice Rowena walking as close as she could to the man in the branches high above her head.

Through the chaos between Salazar and Godric, she had spoken softly, "So, you are the one who gave Helga the jewels." The man tilted his head. Okay, so he could understand but he didn't reply, so she Rowena tried again,

"Do you have a name? I am Rowena." The man stilled for a moment, as if was thinking if he should answer. Then, he opened his mouth to reply,

"I am... Lann." Rowena noted that his voice was cracked and rough, most likely from disuse.

Salazar and Godric froze while Rowena smiled slightly. Before she could ask another question, the man, surprisingly, spoke, "Do you... know what year it is?"

Rowena blinked and answered slowly, as if she was speaking to a child. "It is the year 962. The 10th century."

The man's eyebrows furrowed, clearly counting under his breath. During this moment, Godric shrugged off Salazar's hold and moved Helga so that she rested against a tree trunk. She was still unconscious, but close to coming to.

Rowena waited for the man to finish counting before asking, "Are you the guardian of this forest?"

Something flashed in the man's eyes as he turned his head to the side. He stared off into the distance as he, strangely hesitant, answered, "... Yes."

With that, he suddenly disappeared from Rowena's sight with nary a sound as a heavy wind blew cold wind and loose leaves everywhere and whipped her long hair into her face.

* * *

It wasn't until two decades later that Rowena was able to meet the person who Godric had dubbed the '_man of the forest_,' Lann, again. She had recently finished overseeing the last preparation stages of the castle of a magic school, Hogwarts, that had been built on the old ruins of the ancient fortress that stood long before her all-knowing grandfather had been born. The original name of the place had been lost to time and was most likely never to be found again.

The forest now seemed more ancient and overgrown than the last time Rowena had ventured into it, but at the same time it felt darker, edgier, and more dangerous as she went deeper between the tall trees, seeking the elusive man who she had met so many years ago.

It was strange enough to think about, but Rowena needed his help and she hoped desperately that he would agree to her request. It had taken years of deliberation between her friends and many sleepless nights, but he was her last resort.

It didn't take long before she found him, or rather he found her. He was perched on a tree branch above her head and looked just as menacing as he did decades ago when they had first met. Even his clothes and swords were the same, whereas she had grown older and gained a few pounds and streaks of gray in her hair from the stress of taking care of her school plans and her young daughter.

"Lann." The man tilted his head in acknowledgment. Rowena didn't waste her words as she said, "I need your help. It concerns your forest."

"Continue." It seemed like Lann wasn't one to waste time, either. Maybe it was the urgent note in her voice that made him blunt in his speech.

"You are the guardian of this forest. There is a school for children to learn magic being built not even a mile away, and I want your word that the creatures in your forest will not actively seek to harm the children. In return, we will not harm your forest or territory." Rowena noticed that at the mention of children, Lann's eyes softened just a little as if he was relieving an old memory.

"I will ensure that the children will come to no harm." Rowena nodded and continued,

"I would also like it if the headmaster of the school requests your aid in providing security for the safety of the children, you would accept. Under negotiable terms, of course, and we will not hesitate to aid you in a similar situation."

The man mulled over her most important request. It was vital to the future generations of Hogwarts that he accept this. Rowena would do about anything to make him see her way.

"Under negotiable terms, I accept."

"Good, now I need some of your blood." At his hard stare, Rowena clarified and held out the roll of parchment and quill, "For the contract."

The man nodded and within a blink had appeared in front of her. Rowena startled and dropped the roll of parchment, but the caught it and unrolled it. His eyes quickly scanned over the text before he held out a calloused hand for the quill.

Rowena watched in a morbid sense of amazement as the man didn't even blink as he signed his name with bold and heavy letters, each thick line biting a deep scratch into the back of his hand. His signature was barely unreadable despite this and full of ornately decorative lines, but when she looked up from the contract with an eyebrow raised he had disappeared without a trace.

Sighing, Rowena started the long journey back to Hogwarts and hoped that she made it back before nightfall. Whatever Helga had gleaned from her brief Divination practices must be life-changing and very important if she wanted to get a blood contract from the man who scared Godric Gryffindor, the bravest of them all, into silence.

* * *

Lann watched over the forest and the school for magic children over several centuries, but not once was he called into aid. He kept his part of the contract of course and made sure that the creatures of the forest feared his wrath should they ever touch the children.

He felt a slight pang of pain on his hand when he felt each of the four magicians, now ancient and wizened beyond recognition, slowly waste away peacefully on their deathbeds. The headmasters of the school changed along with the flow of time, but the whispered legends of the original four founders reached even his ears from within the deepest depths of the dark forest.

However, not even the name, that had somehow attached, the Forbidden Forest could keep the annoyingly insistent youngsters out of the outskirts of the danger zone, where the more brave creatures would often try to cause havoc within his domain.

It reminded Lann that, once upon a time so many years ago, he was once the same as them. Foolhardy and confident and all around foolish.

But time is not kind to those that do not live forever, and neither does it let those who don't escape from its grasp.

It started in what seemed to be around the years of the 1990s.

The first mutterings of _Tom Riddle_ and _Lord Voldemort_ reached his ears as the current headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was speaking with the hairy half-giant that lived at the edge of his forest, Hagrid. They were conversing at the giant's house, but it was close enough so that if Lann headed to the bare edges of his territory he could get a few snatches of conversation.

Something about a prophecy, and a child who was destined to defeat an evil.

Lann would have laughed at the image of a child defeating an evil and powerful wizard on their own with a magic stick, but it didn't take long for the niggling thought of that he too had once been a young child, barely a man, destined to defeat an evil so great that even the mightiest trembled in their shoes.

At least he had friends who had stuck with him until the very end. The poor child that has been chosen by destiny seemed lonely, and not by his or her own choice either.

Lann fled back into the deep recesses of the forest as the conversation between the half-giant and the headmaster closed up. He had no desire to be discovered before his contract began.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind as that the other side of his contract might actually be activated for once after almost a millenia.


	2. Drabble 1

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Late School Year of 1992

* * *

The treetops rustled noisily from the light breeze, and Lann opened his eyes to a cloying sense of darkness lingering and spreading from one part of his forest. The sense sickened him to his stomach, but Lann got up from the thick tree branch and took a deep breath of the cool night air. His fingers twitched on the handles of his swords.

Something wasn't right.

A good ten feet below him, Lann watched as the bushes shook and what sounded like horse hooves pounded on the forest floor like frantic drumbeats. From within the darkened greenery, a gold Unicorn foal burst into his sight with a startled neigh. The creature, not even a year old, stamped its hooves and looked around wildly with its bulging eyes.

Lann slipped down the tree in concern and approached the golden horse. The foal was practically foaming at the mouth and its jumpy posture signaled at something more than just a case of nerves.

The Unicorn foal didn't kick him in its scared state, but it remained tense despite his calming touches. Lann upped his alert levels too, but forced his muscles to relax. It wouldn't do to scare the foal any more than it was already.

It was puzzling; what could have possibly startled a young Unicorn foal? And where was its mother? Weren't foals supposed to follow their mothers always?

It took a moment, but Lann connected to dots just as he felt a wave of _darkness_ and _evil_ and _death_ radiating again from a spot about a mile away from his current position.

_Mother was killed, purposely_. Lann swallowed his burgeoning anger but continued to carefully pet the foal; it was calming down now, but there was a lingering aura of sorrow emanating from the horse that was to be expected.

Once the foal was sufficiently relaxed, Lann led it deeper into the recesses of the forest. It took no more than a few moments when he reached the edges of territory held by the Unicorn herds.

The foal neighed and galloped into the area that it recognized as familiar. When it turned to look back, the man that had calmed it and guided the foal back to its home wasn't there. There was nothing except for the angry whispering of the icy winds.

* * *

It took about five minutes to reach the beacon of darkness by treetop. Lann crouched in the shadowed leaf canopy as he watched a tall human, one that reeked of _evil_ and _decay_, kneel next to the ghostly corpse of the Unicorn mother. The figure, a man, scooped up the silver blood by the handful and poured it down his throat with the sense of urgency that accompanied someone who was quickly dying.

It was disgusting to watch, and Lann would've slipped over and slit the man's throat were it not for the footsteps of several other humans about a meter away. The man, hearing the bushes rustle, quickly hid behind the trunk of a thick tree.

How _interesting_.

Lann watched as two student-aged boys, one dark-haired and the other fair-headed, and a large black dog loudly burst into the clearing. In that moment and without a warning, the man behind the tree jumped out in front of them. The blond shrieked, the noise quite shrill to Lann's ears, and the dog barked in fright as both of them turned tail and ran.

Something was _off_ with the dark-haired boy as he turned still and clutched at his forehead. It was obvious that he was frightened, but in pain as well? The man stalked around the boy, he seemed to want to do harm but something was holding him back.

The boy collapsed to the ground, and the man walked closer. Lann decided enough was enough, and silently dropped from his perch. With nary a sound, Lann unsheathed his swords and held them close to the man's neck.

With precise angling, Lann made sure that the man could see that the person who was behind him looked _very_ threatening and angry. Also, he made sure to give small nicks on both sides of his neck. Just enough so that it started to bleed a droplet.

Lann didn't expect the man to teleport away with a bang, the wizarding magic kind of teleportation, leaving Lann with his swords raised. The presence of evil disappeared from the forest entirely, so it was safe to say that the man who drank had drank the blood of the slain Unicorn had disappeared completely. Lann lowered his swords and sheathed them.

He stared, unblinkingly, at the boy.

The boy, unblinkingly, stared back.

Then a centaur exploded from behind a nearby bush in flash of hooves and noise. The boy was momentarily distracted, but when he turned his head back to stare some more the man had disappeared without a trace.


	3. Drabble 2

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

* * *

As the moonlight shone through the many windows of his office, Dumbledore sighed and shuffled some papers around on his desk.

Colin Creevy, Hermione Granger, Nearly-Headless Nick, poor Mrs. Norris, and so many more were the latest victims of the Basilisk that was currently prowling about Hogwarts. At least they were petrified and left in peace, rather than swallowed whole. It was either good luck or an ill omen that the Basilisk wasn't hungry… at the moment.

Contrary to popular opinion, Dumbledore had absolutely no power over the large snake. Sure, he'd be able to temporarily banish it back under the castle, but that was the extent of his control over anything that belonged to the true heir of Slytherin. He knew how the prophecy went and knew his role, but he didn't like endangering his extended family of students more than necessary. Especially Harry, that very unlucky boy.

It didn't mean that he didn't have the inklings of a new plan, however…

Waving his hand, an innocuous scroll emerged from the depths of his overstuffed bookshelf. Unrolling it, Dumbledore frowned and banished it. Waving his hand in a different direction, another scroll floated over. He banished that one after it clearly wasn't the one he wanted.

This tedious process continued for ten minutes. The contract he was looking for had no title on it, so Dumbledore was calling for all the untitled scrolls from the Bookshelf of Contacts and Contracts, filled with information dating all the way back to the original four Founders. He only remembered that the strange contract he was looking for held a name in elaborate handwriting that was wildly different than the common scrawl back in the days.

Finally, the right scroll drifted into his hands and Dumbledore didn't need to open it to feel the sealed power radiating from it. The unique signature of the pulses of energy was a good sign as it meant whoever the contract had bound was still alive… despite being signed many centuries ago when the Founders were still alive.

Taking a deep breath of relief, Dumbledore opened the scroll and read its contents. With his wand, he tapped the signature on the contract three times and waited with baited breath that it would work.

* * *

Lann opened his eyes, sleep falling away from him like a simple veil, when a vaguely familiar pain on his left hand flared, the letters of his name glowing a bright blue. The moonlight shone through the gaps in the canopy of leaves above him.

Somewhere in the back of his head, as he was dashing past the trees in the forest, a little voice said that it would be nice to see not-Rocheste. Lann banished that thought from his head. There was something more urgent than his damnable curiosity.

Hogwarts, Rocheste's successor, needed his help.

* * *

A few minutes came and went and Dumbledore expected someone, or something in the least, to apparate with a small poof into his office.

He didn't expect a half-dressed, feral-looking young man with two frightening swords to explode through the window over his shoulder. If Dumbledore was any less of the man he was, he would've fainted. But no, Dumbledore was anything but easily surprised.

Dumbledore took a minute to observe the young man. His dark hair was windswept backwards and ragged at the short ends as if he had painstakingly sheared them with his swords. He skin was a healthy shade of tan and covered in numerous scars, and he could easily be considered to be the most muscular wizard Dumbledore ever met in his life. If he was a muggle, then… perhaps not.

His eyes were the most interesting as he looked as if he had experienced all the death in the world and returned it tenfold to those unfortunate enough to get into his way. This man was an old soul, no doubt about it, but it didn't take a squib to tell that this man was also very dangerous.

Very, very dangerous.

Dumbledore had a drop of worry in the back of his head, but he quickly quashed it. There were more pressing matters to deal with, and if he managed to get the cooperation of this man, his plans would most likely go more smoothly than originally planned.

Dumbledore waved his wand and a brown armchair materialized in front of his desk. The broken window behind his shoulder began to repair itself on its own accord. He cleared his throat as the man stiffly sat down, the sharp eyes never leaving Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore put on his most reassuring smile. Fawkes, his lovable phoenix, trilled from his corner in _excitement_.

"Would you like a lemon drop, Guardian of the Forbidden Forest?"

* * *

"_I require your assistance. You see, it regards the safety of the students residing in this castle…_"

Lann snorted as he paced the confines of his 'room' in Hogwarts. He had struggled with the modernized contraption he vaguely remembered was a shower, but he at least he was clean. Cleaner than he had ever been in his life, actually.

There had been a set of wizard-y clothes on top of the bed, but he ignored every article of clothing except for the shirt. He begrudgingly put on the simple grey shirt; although he had refrained from rejoining society, he did know that walking around a building without a shirt on only asked for nuisances and trouble. He was here to do a few tasks and only that. There was no time for side-trips.

His own trousers and boots were fine, but the black robe was plain ridiculous.

He tried really hard to imagine Evie in one of the flappy, cumbersome cloaks.

He couldn't.

Lann stalked out of the room, his trusty swords glimmering with the thorough clean up and sharpening he had done a few minutes ago.

He felt agitated and his skin crawled. He felt like there was a larger wheel of events in place, just around the corner, waiting to happen.

Things tend to _die _when Lann was agitated.

A bird's quiet chirping from above his head made Lann look up, curious. He had heard the flaming bird arrive in the empty corridor in a puff of harmless flames a few seconds earlier.

The fascinating bird, Fawkes, he remembered the Headmaster telling him about, snatched some of his hair and began to tug him forward. Knowing that the bird was anything but vicious and more amused at the creature's antics rather than annoyed, Lann dutifully followed.

* * *

Harry Potter rolled to the side quickly as the Basilisk's mouth smashed into the stone floor of the Chamber that he had occupied a few moments ago. Scrambling to his feet, Harry looked around frantically for his wand. He had dropped it a little while earlier when the giant snake's tail knocked it out of his hand with a well-placed smack that left his wrist fractured and throbbing with pain.

It didn't help that the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead was pulsing with an even greater level of pain. It was a miracle that was able to concentrate on dodging the Basilisk this long. He was getting tired.

The trill of a bird and a bright flash of white light made Harry look up in surprise as the Basilisk hissed in pain before slithering into a corner, readying itself to attack once the pain subsided. Fawkes zoomed straight for him with the…_ Sorting Hat_ in his talons?

The hat dropped onto the floor next to him and Harry wasted no time in grabbing the seemingly-limp sentient hat.

From out of the Sorting Hat, Harry pulled out… a Basilisk fang?

The eerie scrape of metal chains on stone behind him reached his ears and Harry turned around, painfully aware that he was without his wand.

It was the _man_ from the forest. The same one that had saved him last year, but this time wearing a grey shirt. His hair was shorter, but the unflinching look on his face, a new jagged scar crossing a sharp cheekbone, and the gleaming swords at his waist made for an intimidating image.

On one hand he was carrying a foreign metal contraption that consisted of a claw attached to a long length of chain that was dragging on the floor. In the other, he had the Diary.

The death stare never left the thrashing snake at the other end of the Chamber. He tossed the Diary over to Harry, who caught it with fumbling fingers. "Destroy this with the fang. Fawkes will take you out when you are done." The words were awkward and forced, as if he was unused to speaking English. The accent was hard to place anywhere.

Harry numbly held up the Basilisk fang and looked at it. The continuing scrape of the metal chain on the floor made him look up. The man strode, surprisingly calm, towards the hissing Basilisk.

Harry looked at the cursed book in his hands and stabbed the fang into the pages without hesitating. Fawkes trilled and landed on his hand. Harry was then subjected to a familiar sensation of flying, except this time he was being dragged several hundred feet into the air by a flaming bird while holding on with one hand.

With one last look over his shoulder, Harry saw the man from the forest shoot the wounded Basilisk with the hook-and-chain contraption before being launched up and over to the top of the giant snake's head. His bone-white swords, glowing brightly in the darkness as Harry flew farther away, were stabbed so far into Basilisk's skull that the only things left visible were the hilts.

The swords were slowly dragged out of the creature, their gleaming magnificence completely covered in inky blood. The Basilisk flopped to the floor, boneless and its cursed eyes rolled back into its head.

It was dead.

Harry would've thrown up had he not been in the air.

* * *

As Lann jumped from the corpse of the dead Basilisk to the floor, Lann thought with a mental chuckle that he hoped Kai wasn't angry that he had stolen his signature move. It had been a last-minute decision, but how could he not use the chain hook that he had found inside the strange talking hat that the flaming bird had been toting around?

Then, he looked at the state of his swords and sighed.

His job was done. He had allowed the boy to weaken the Basilisk, he himself killed the weakened Basilisk, and he saved the boy that had been marked by the fates from being snake-food.

All in a day's work. It was laughably easy compared to the dragons and giant fomors that he had fought a long time ago. If the old fomors had been able to have been weakened by destroying random books lying about, then perhaps his friends would have-

No.

The past has gone. He was living for the future they had fought to their last breath for.

Although, he did entertain the thought that perhaps the Basilisk was some weaker cousin of the sewer creature he had known as Thor. At least this one salivated poison rather than lightning. And had only one mouth, thank Morrighan.

Lann began the laborious combination of slip-dashing and climbing back up to the surface. He doubted that Fawkes would come back to pick him up.

Along the way up, he had picked up a little stick, wands he believed they were called, that belonged to the boy. Lann pocketed it. He would return it to the boy.

* * *

When Harry woke up in the Hospital wing the next morning after his terrifying excursion into the Chamber of Secrets, he found his wand on the bed stand next to the Basilisk fang and the Diary.

To his right the window had been thrown wide open to let in the sunlight, but Harry noticed the dark drops of inky black liquid quietly sizzling on the window sill.


End file.
